


Clash of the Titans

by DarkDanc3r



Series: Driving Crazy [3]
Category: The Fast and the Furious (2001), Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDanc3r/pseuds/DarkDanc3r
Summary: In Brian's eyes the scene could've been part of a movie; for Prowl, it was one more tactical exercise.





	Clash of the Titans

**Author's Note:**

> ~~ = POV Change

Brian felt helpless as he watched the two robots (!) charge each other. They met with a clash of metal on metal that reminded him of how that semi had slammed into the Charger just after they'd beat the train. He almost expected to see a director calling the shots and boom mikes hanging overhead as the two machines wrestled for dominance. When he looked around, though, he only saw empty space and two teenagers huddled beside a pillar halfway across the building.

Seeing those two kids crouched behind a pillar on the other side of the wide space, eyes glued on the robot deathmatch, knocked Brian out of his shocked state. _Why aren't they running?_ Scowling, he moved from pillar to pillar, crossing the distance between where he'd been dumped and where they were hiding at what seemed like a crawl. Finally, he knelt beside them, and blinked at the suspicious looks he received.

"Easy. I'm with the Mission City Police Department." They didn't can the looks, but after the way Vince had treated him, ignoring their suspicion was easy. "You two really need to get out of here before you get stepped on or something."

"We won't get stepped on!" The girl protested.

At the same moment, the boy shook his head violently. "Not without Bumblebee!"

"Bumblebee?" Had the kid been hit over the head or something?

"Yeah, my – No! Damnit, leave him alone!" Before Brian could catch him, the kid jumped away from the protection of the pillar and didn't stop moving until he had the attention of both robots. Somehow, Brian got the impression that the warble from the yellow robot pinned beneath the - very spiky - former police car was a protest against whatever foolhardy thing the boy was about to do. The black robot just seemed confused.

"Leave Bumblebee alone!" The kid demanded again, ignoring Brian's demand to get back under cover and the girl's whisper of 'Sam, no...'

The newly identified Sam didn't move, posture defiant as he glared at the two robots. "If you want to kill someone, Barricade, kill me! I'm the one who destroyed Megatron! Leave Bee alone!"

_Huh? Megatron... Barricade... what the?_ Please god, don't ever let whatever he's on reach L.A.!

The former cop car made a rather confused noise, but powered up some sort of glowing weapon that replaced a hand (and when had that change happened?!) when the yellow robot made the 'fritzing modem' noise Brian had heard on the radio before. The noise only seemed to confuse the interceptor worse, if Brian was reading that expression at all right. When the yellow robot tried to move, the weapon got even brighter, but so far it didn't look like the cop car was going to fire quite yet.

~~

The yellow Cybertronian had 'chased' him to the battleground of his choice, automatically putting the upcoming clash at least partially in Prowl's favor. It was certainly a poor tactical decision on his opponent's part, and left Prowl wondering why the potential Decepticon hadn't attacked him immediately. The confusion, however, did not keep him from taking full advantage of his opponent's oversight.

He felt bad for having to throw his human partner out, but it was the only way to make sure he kept his advantage over the unknown mech. He could not easily see a faction badge, and try though he might the transmissions he received were scrambled beyond comprehension, either by intent or due to his lingering processor damage. Seeing the unknown discharge two apparently healthy organics threw even more unknown variables into the already complicated situation, but Prowl refused to give in to his logic circuits' conflicting reactions.

When they met in closer combat than Prowl preferred, he took notice of several vital things. First, the yellow mech showed signs of fresh repair work, which implied that he had access to a medic. Second, he radiated a sense of confidence that bordered on foolhardy – as though they had clashed before and the yellow mech had won, though Prowl had no memory of this altercation. Third, he fought with a style that tugged at Prowl's damaged processors, familiar but not. Lastly, the yellow mech was built on a scout's frame, not a front-liner's, and the fighting style he used was not as well suited to a lightly armored, lightly armed mech – whoever had taught this one likely depended on brute strength and overwhelming firepower to win his battles.

All of these facts clicked through Prowl's processor and within astroseconds his tactical circuits provided him with the most likely means of disabling his opponent. With strikes that seemed heavier and microseconds slower than he remembered being, Prowl attacked – slap the cannon (low powered and not even moved into a proper firing position) away and towards the ceiling; step into his space rather than drawing away to fire; left-side claws (wrong! He didn't have claws!) into the bot's left shoulder and yank; alter stance to put his foot to the right of the mech's right ankle so he couldn't stutter-step and catch himself; shove on the shoulder he'd yanked once the mech was turning; follow him down to straddle his narrower waist; press the cannon he didn't recognize against the armor between the mech's doorwings, right over the spark. If he was smart, he'd freeze.

Seemed he was a smart one; the moment he felt Prowl's cannon against his spine, he froze. Before Prowl could demand answers by whatever means necessary, one of the yellow mech's passengers leapt from his cover and started shouting. Either the youth was deranged or in league with the yellow mech – something Prowl had a hard time believing if the mech was, in fact, a Decepticon; they were notorious for their disdain of any not of Cybertronian origins.

The yellow mech warbled in startled protest, confirming, at least, the fact that the two were close. Annoyingly for Prowl, the mech's vocalization was scratchy and completely indecipherable – and it seemed to have no effect on the human youth. Putting the boy out of mind for an astrosecond, Prowl prepared yet again to demand answers, only to again be interrupted by the shouting of the youth. The words thrown his way caught his attention, and though the English language was hopelessly short on appropriate naming concepts, Prowl nonetheless recognized at least one of the names the boy shouted. He didn't know who Barricade was, and thought Bumblebee was the name of the mech he pinned, but Megatron he knew. Megatron, former Lord Protector of Cybertron, power hungry monster with visions of universal domination. And this organic – a youngling still by his own race's reckoning – claimed to have killed him.

Preposterous.

Humans were unique, vastly different from all other non-Cybertronians Prowl could remember contacting, but they were still tiny, unarmed organics. Megatron was one of the only mechs powerful enough to take Optimus Prime on in a face-to-face battle and emerge still intact. There was no feasible way that this youth had destroyed him. In the middle of his processor trying to make such a blatantly crazy statement compute, he got another garbled transmission from the mech pinned beneath him and he fired up his cannon in warning. He still didn't know what the mech wanted.

The youth shouted in dismay, only to be jerked back by Prowl's human before he could charge the two mechs, and Prowl hissed in irritation. Finally, Prowl demanded – in a voice that most certainly did **not** sound like his own – the information he needed.

"Faction and designation." His voice should've belonged to a Decepticon, and it shocked him to the core to hear it from his own vocalizer.

The yellow mech spluttered a burst of surprised static that needed no translation. "What are you on about, Barricade?!" The voice was scratchy, broken in a fashion that spoke of severe damage.

Prowl growled and pushed his cannon just a little harder against the mech's spine, causing several smaller wires to pop and hiss as they melted under the heat of the plasma.

The mech whined in pain and Prowl heard both male and female youths cry out, but he finally got the answer he wanted.

"Designation Bumblebee, Autobot advance scout under the direct command of Optimus Prime."

Craning his head around and moving very, very slowly, the yellow mech pushed up his battle helm, revealing the Autobot symbol between his bright blue optics.

Prowl let out his own warble of surprise – and Primus did it sound wrong in that Decepticon's growl. "Optimus Prime is still functional?"

"Yes. And Sam really did terminate Megatron. That news came from the Prime himself."

Prowl felt his fuel pump rev in shock, and he rocked back and off the scout's waist, powering down the cannon that most certainly did **not** belong to his body. That thought terrified the tactician, but that could be dealt with later. He watched as the yellow mech – as Bumblebee – got to his feet cautiously, doorwings held stiffly in place. He returned Bumblebee's gaze calmly – rather, his processors raced but the confusion stayed off his face.

"Well, if you're not Barricade, who are you?" It was the girl who spoke, this time – the boy had approached Bumblebee and practically radiated worry.

Brian was still standing by the pillar, Prowl discovered when he looked for him before answering the child. The police officer's expression was one of shock and... anger? He would have to face that problem in a moment.

"Designation Prowl. Autobot tactical officer and second-in-command of the Autobot army."

Bumblebee took a sudden step back, battle mask dropping over his face as the yellow mech jerked and made a whistling noise in surprise. He pushed the mask up, staring out from under it with the most disbelieving expression possible on such an immobile face.

"Prowl was terminated early in the war."

Prowl's optics shut off in surprised dismay – what had the Decepticons **done** to him?! "I give you my word as an Autobot and an officer that I _am_ Prowl." He onlined his optics again, watching Bumblebee.

The girl joined her friend – Sam – at Bumblebee's feet, and looked up at the yellow scout. "Why not call Optimus and have him send someone who would know this Prowl person?"

Bumblebee hummed, and even Prowl had to make a very soft approving sound. The girl was obviously intelligent enough to realize that Prowl could be telling a falsehood in an attempt to lure the Prime into a trap.

Bumblebee looked up sharply when he made that approving hum, and then looked down at the girl again. "A wise idea. I want the two of you to wait behind me until someone arrives." The boy started to protest until Bumblebee put a fingertip on his shoulder. "Please. For my... peace of mind." Reluctantly the boy nodded, and together the two youths retreated to the far wall of the factor.

Prowl watched them, and then retreated slowly himself, sinking onto his aft against the wall furthest from the two organics. Until that moment he hadn't realized just how much damage he still had, and he'd stressed several half-mended seams during that quick take-down. He offlined his optics, pulling air quietly through his intakes as he made an attempt to distract himself from the pain of his injuries, the frantic protests of his logic center against this entire situation, and his thoughts of just how many lives he'd destroyed as 'Barricade'.

He heard the approach of familiar human footsteps and onlined his optics again to watch Brian approach. He remained seated, waiting for the dressing down he no doubt had coming. What the human had to say instead left Prowl momentarily speechless.

~~

"You do realize that I've been reported as AWOL with stolen government property by now, right?"

Brian watched his car... the robot... Prowl... twitch, optics flickering. The spikey black head tilted, disturbing red eyes staring at him.

"My apologies, officer O'Connor. This was an... unexpected turn of events."

Brian frowned for a moment, but shook it off. Of course Prowl would know his name. They'd been working together for... "How long have you been my car?"

Prowl leaned his head back against the wall, lifting his optics to the ceiling. "Since you arrived here, I believe. My memories are... patchy. I spent much of my time in stasis, until you spoke to me."

"Huh?" The moment Prowl spoke of didn't ring a bell.

"You called me a 'scrap heap'."

"Oh!" Brian laughed, and realized that if he wasn't careful he was going to have a massive breakdown. This was worse than finding out that **Dom** was behind the hits on the L.A. truckers. "That was my first day. The doors wouldn't unlock."

"Mmm..." Prowl hummed a quiet note before nodding. "I was still trying to mend severe damage at that point. It took me several of your months to actually spend more time fully aware of my surroundings."

Brian found himself nodding slowly. He remembered when the gas had stopped disappearing so damned fast. "About the time I stopped having to worry about paying extra gas fees?"

Prowl actually twitched, and Brian grinned. "I thought so." He studied the giant robot sitting in front of him, and ran a hand over his hair. God, how was he supposed to explain his sudden absence, or the dents and scratches to a formerly flawless paint job? "I am going to be in so much deep fucking shit when I get back..." He groaned.

Prowl twitched again and sighed air through vents, making Brian wonder how long he'd been picking up on human behavior. He sighed and stepped forward to pat one clawed metal foot. "I'm sure I can come up with something." He watched Prowl nod, rather reluctantly from the looks of it, and turned his attention to the foot he was touching. "Man. Aside from the trouble I'm so in, this is really kind of amazing. Hell, this ranks up with Race Wars." So many little moving parts, so much weird tech that explained so **well** why he never had trouble catching speeders.

Prowl started to respond, only to be cut off by a squawk of sirens that came from just beyond the door they'd crashed through. Brian watched Prowl get to his feet, and then turned to watch the new arrivals enter. He could see yellow Bumblebee relaxing, and the two kids had joined him.

Through the damaged door came one of the oddest pairs of vehicles Brian could remember. An eye-burning chartreuse and red rescue vehicle and a sweet little silver sports car that would've looked perfectly at home at any L.A. race - even without a flashy paint job - that just **screamed** speed and style. As he watched, the two transformed, and if Brian had through the Hummer was ugly before, it was even worse as a robot. God, he'd seen glow sticks that weren't that glaringly painful. At least the silver one was easy on the eyes, and every bit as sleek on two legs as it was on four wheels.

The silver robot took a step forward, glanced at Bumblebee – they were talking wirelessly, Bri suspected – and then he looked at Prowl again. He modem-fritzed/spoke to Prowl, but that only made Prowl shake his head. The ugly-mug Hummer grunted, and Bri realized that it just might be the robot version of a doctor – and for Prowl's sake Bri hoped he was a better medic than he was color coordinator.

The silver one shrugged and stepped closer again before switching to English. "Prowler?"

"Jazz..."


End file.
